The Family You Make

by Jill Shalvis

  Jane’s idea of letting Charlotte know she was alive and okay.

  In truth, it was a huge step from the beginning years. In those days, Jane hadn’t understood that Charlotte actually cared about where she was and if she was okay. So Jane’s leaving a note now was the equivalent to shouting out from the rooftops that she considered Charlotte family. Her feral wolf cub was growing up enough to realize that other people might actually worry about her whereabouts.

  Progress.

  She was a decade older than Jane, but if you compared Jane’s life experiences to hers, Charlotte was the youngster. Still, she loved to smother Jane in affection, because one, near as she could tell, Jane didn’t let anyone else do it, and two, because it was fun to watch Jane squirm trying to figure out how to accept said affection.

  She’d planned on showering, pulling down her blackout shades, and going to bed, but, restless after her shower, she pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and went out into her backyard. Hands on hips, she stared up at the roofline of her house, where her Christmas lights twinkled at her mockingly.

  “I know, I know,” she said. “It’s February and you’re embarrassed to still be up there.”

  At work, there was always an ongoing bet of some kind or another for comic relief. Charlotte was rarely the instigator, but she almost always was the winner.

  She couldn’t help herself, she hated to lose. Last month the bet had been who could go the longest without a bathroom break. This had stemmed from the fact that the staff bathroom between the ER and OR had been closed due to renovations, leaving all of them having to run up a floor and use the Labor and Delivery staff bathroom as needed. They’d installed a small camera at the entrance of said bathroom to make sure to catch everyone entering so they could see who didn’t enter—and that would be their winner. They’d even installed a camera on the third-floor staff bathroom to make sure no one bent the rules.

  But they hadn’t installed a camera on the fourth floor, figuring no one would have that kind of time. Charlotte had won a nice pot of two hundred bucks, thanks to the hospital president being a personal friend and having her own office and attached bathroom.

  She’d won the last five bets and had no intention of losing any time soon.

  The other day in the staff room at the hospital, there’d been a poll on who still had their holiday decorations up, and you couldn’t bet on yourself.

  She could still remember the light in Mateo’s eyes as he’d laughingly collected the bounty because he’d been the only one to know that she had hers up.

  “They light up my bedroom at night,” he told her later when they’d been alone. “Makes me think of you.”

  What would he say if she told him the truth—that she thought of him too. Way too much. But she still hated that she’d lost the bet on a technicality. She pointed up at her lights. “I’m coming for you.”

  They twinkled at her mockingly, and she wondered if Mateo would notice that they were gone.

  He’d asked her out, multiple times. But she’d always declined. Not because she was going for celibacy. And not for a lack of interest either. She’d have to be dead and buried to not be attracted to the man whose easygoing mannerisms conflicted with his heart-stopping magic in the ER in the most fascinating of ways.

  Not going there . . .

  She drew a deep breath of determination and dragged her ladder from the garage to the backyard, wrestling it up against the roof. Not easy on any day, but she still had a foot of snow in her yard, even more up against the house. She snugged the ladder against the packed snow and hoped that it would make her feel more secure.

  If Jane had been here, she’d have done this for Charlotte. Jane was good with ladders. Jane was good with just about everything. Charlotte was first-rate in an operating room. She was also excellent at holding on to the past, not that she was proud of it.

  It was why she lived all the way out here on the West Coast. Because she couldn’t fathom living in the city where it had happened. Where everyone knew and pitied her for it. Yes, she was lonely for her parents, but she was also furious that one bad decision on one terrible night had stolen not only her trust in others but in essence her family as well.

  Quite over herself, she climbed to the top of the ladder and began to lift the string of lights from the hooks in her eaves. Two minutes in, she faced a quandary. Roll them up like a lasso and hang them from her shoulder, or let them drop to the ground and possibly break.

  She was still deciding on a plan of action when she heard the doorbell ring. Grumbling, she backed down the ladder.

  Please let it be a food delivery.

  Since she hadn’t ordered anything, the odds were against her. Stalking around the side of the house, she stopped in surprise at seeing Jane standing on the porch. She was in jeans and a thin sweater that accented her slender, deceptively lightweight figure. No jacket, no doubt because she’d forgotten it. Long wavy hair blowing around her pretty face. She had a big bakery bag in one hand and kickass boots on her feet that were a statement and told people not to underestimate her.

  Charlotte certainly never did. She’d met Jane years ago at a medical clinic in Colombia, where they’d both been on a Doctors Without Borders stint. It’d been one of Charlotte’s first overseas forays, and she’d been told to expect it to be rough.

  But it’d been even more of a nightmare than she could have dreamed of. One night, rebels, guns blazing, had come into the clinic to confiscate all the meds and meager amounts of cash. Charlotte had been by the door, just locking up. The rebel guarding their exit had sidled up to her.

  She hadn’t been able to understand everything he’d said, but his intent had been clear in the way he looked at her while fingering her hair, bringing a strand of it up to his face to sniff at exaggeratedly.

  She’d frozen, completely frozen, mentally yanked into an old nightmare of another situation she hadn’t been able to control. And when she hadn’t responded to the guy, his grip on her tightened. Before she could draw a breath to scream, one of the American nurses shoved her way in front of Charlotte, hands out at her sides to keep Charlotte behind her as she stared up at the rebel. “Take the drugs and money and get the hell out of here.”

  He’d laughed in her face, but Jane, all five feet four inches of her, hadn’t backed down.

  And the rebels had finished their looting and gone.

  Charlotte had fainted. Fainted. Even now, six years later, just thinking about it made her face heat with embarrassment and humiliation.

  She’d taken a lot of self-defense classes since then, and had also had counseling. She’d like to think if anything like that happened now, she’d hold her own and be brave.

  Brave as Jane had been that day.

  But she’d not taken on any more of those clinics, instead staying in Tahoe and working at the local hospital. She loved it, loved the people, and yes, okay, it was safe.

  But she liked safe.

  Lived for it.

  And the fact that she was living at all was thanks to Jane, and she’d never forget it.

  Jane had her hand up, just about to ring the bell again, when she caught sight of Charlotte coming around from the side of the house. “Hey,” she called out, her smile fading at whatever she saw on Charlotte’s face. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, except for the fact that you’re ringing the doorbell. You have a key, and I know damn well you use it when I’m not home. You live here, Jane. You pay rent.”

  Jane thrust out the bakery bag to Charlotte. “Heard about your rough shift. And you don’t ever take my money.”

  Charlotte took the bakery bag, because there was stubborn and then there was stupid. And she refused to be stupid. “I could marry you for whatever is in this bag. And I do so take your rent money.”

  “Charlotte, I checked my bank balance yesterday. You haven’t accepted my Venmo payment.”

  Charlotte opened her mouth, but Jane pointed at her. “Did you accept Zoe’s and Mariella’s?”<
br />
  Charlotte sighed.

  “Thought so.” Jane shook her head. “You know I love what you’re doing here. Renting to women, making sure they’re safe. I know why you do it, and I admire it so much. But I want to be a part of it too. I want to help.”

  “You already have.” Charlotte could feel herself getting emotional when she didn’t want to. “And what does this have to do with you refusing to let yourself in with your key?”

  “Since you won’t take my rent, I’m technically not a renter. I’m a guest. And guests ring the bell.” She paused and softened her tone. “It’s not my room, Charlotte. It’s your den. I know you like to keep it open for me, but you could be renting it out and making money. We both know Sandra’s looking to stay longer.”

  Charlotte opened the pastry bag. Her mouth watered at the huge blueberry lemon muffin, her favorite. Even knowing it was her entire day’s calories wasn’t going to stop her. “Okay, first, you don’t have to bring me food, but thank you for doing it anyway. And second, that room is for me to choose what to do with. And I choose to keep it a den slash bedroom. For you. You aren’t a damn guest, Jane. You’re family.”

  “You just swore,” Jane said, looking shocked. “You never swear.”

  “Then I must mean it.” Charlotte opened the front door and walked inside.

  Jane laughed and followed her in. “I bring you food because you do so much for me and I feel like it’s the only thing I can do for you in return.”

  “Oh my God,” Charlotte said, tossing up her hands. “It’s like you want me to yell at you.” She turned and put her hands on Jane’s shoulders. “Listen to me. You’re my dearest friend, you’re always there for me, hardly ever try to boss me around, and after long, tragic, horrific days in the OR, you make me laugh. You make me feel human. So trust me when I say, I’m the one that gets the most out of this relationship.”

  Jane blinked, looking thrown off balance. “I . . . didn’t know any of that.”

  “Well, now you do.”

  Jane took a deep breath and headed through the living room. She opened the sliding glass door, stepped outside, and sat on the stoop so that the huge gray cat waiting for her could hop into her lap.

  Charlotte stepped outside too, shutting the door behind them before reaching out to stroke the cat, who allowed it once, twice, and on the third attempt, batted Charlotte’s hand away, making her laugh. “Oh to be a cat and simply slap the shit out of anything I don’t like.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jane said as the behemoth cat jumped lithely down to wrap himself around Jane’s ankles.

  “Why are you sorry if he’s not your cat?”

  Jane rolled her eyes. “No one owns this cat. Sometimes he chooses to come visit me, that’s all.”

  With a heavy thud, the cat jumped onto the patio table. Jane nudged him down. “No furniture.”

  The cat sat on his haunches looking offended.

  Charlotte snorted. “Feed your stray, then let me feed mine.”

  “Are you comparing me to the cat?”

  “You have to admit, there are some similarities.” Grinning at Jane’s grimace, she went into her favorite room in the house. The kitchen. Five minutes later it was already scented with the bacon and eggs she had going. She set out plates and grabbed the pitcher of iced tea from the fridge.

  Yes, it was winter in Tahoe, and the outside temperature was maybe thirty-five degrees with a wind chill that made it seem half that, but Jane loved iced tea.

  And Charlotte loved Jane, so iced tea it was.

  Jane came into the kitchen, prepared a bowl of food for Cat, and set it down at the back door where he was waiting. She was quiet. Not a seething quiet, but a thoughtful, reflective sort of silent that meant she was thinking and thinking hard about something.

  “What is it?” Charlotte asked.

  Jane looked up suspiciously. “What’s what?”

  “Something’s bothering you.”

  Jane smiled warmly. “Have you met me? Everything bothers me.”

  “Has something happened?”

  Jane hesitated.

  “Spill.”

  “I might’ve done something potentially stupid.”

  “You don’t do stupid.”

  Jane laughed a little mirthlessly. “I agreed to go out on a date—a pretend date—with Levi.”

  Charlotte gaped. “Hot guy from the gondola.”

  “I really wish you’d stop calling him that.”

  “Just calling it like it is,” Charlotte said. “And the date’s pretend . . . why?”

  “I told you what he did when we thought we were going to die.”

  “Yes. He told his mom he had someone in his life so she wouldn’t worry.” Charlotte smiled. “So incredibly sweet. But still not hearing the potentially stupid part.”

  “Because the pretend date is to get good enough at being his pretend girlfriend for his parents’ fortieth anniversary dinner.”

  Charlotte stared at her and then laughed.

  Jane pointed at her. “Stop that.”

  “No promises.” Charlotte loaded up two plates and handed Jane one. “You know what I love? How you go kicking and screaming into anything good in your life, like you’re afraid it’s going to turn out to be a bad thing. So hey, if you have to tell yourself this is pretend, whatever, I’m all for it.”

  “I’m not telling myself it’s pretend, it IS pretend. It’s just so that it seems believable and all that.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Jane rolled her eyes as she dug in. “Oh my God, this is delicious. Oh, and I bought your birthday present, so don’t go snooping.”

  Charlotte was turning forty next week and would really rather not. “I told you not to get me anything.”

  “I didn’t listen.”

  She sighed like she was put out, but in fact, presents were both rare and a secret thrill. “Okay, so let’s see this present.”

  “No way.” Jane was looking smug, which meant she was comfortable enough to be looking smug, and that was actually the gift, whether Jane knew it or not. “You don’t get it until your birthday next week.”

  “Spoilsport.” Charlotte watched Jane push around the food with her fork. “What else?”

  “How do you know there’s anything else?”

  Charlotte just looked at her.

  Jane sighed. “I went and visited my grandpa again yesterday.”

  “A visit implies you had a conversation. Did you two have a conversation?”

  “Okay, correction,” Jane said. “I spied on his weekly lunch with some of his old work buddies.”

  Charlotte studied Jane’s face. “So far this season, you’ve stalked his weekly breakfasts with friends and now his weekly lunch with his old work buddies.”

  “Yep.”

  Charlotte looked at her.

  Jane sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m ridiculous.”

  Charlotte’s heart clenched tight at the unsure look on Jane’s face. “Only if you hide under a table again.”

  Jane smiled. “You want to talk about hiding under tables?”

  Okay, so that hadn’t exactly been one of her finer moments. “Extenuating circumstances.”

  “Uh-huh. And no, I didn’t hide under the table.” Jane paused. “I stayed outside and watched through the window.”

  Charlotte laughed. “We’ve made progress.”

  “We? The only way we made progress is if you ran into Mateo today, didn’t hide under a table, and agreed to go out with him.”

  Ignoring this and the flutter low in her belly, Charlotte went chin up. “How does he look?”

  “Sexy as hell,” Jane said. “Dr. Hottie Patottie’s got that whole laid-back, easygoing charm down, and matched with that leanly muscled runner’s build and the fact that he’s brilliant—”

  “I meant your grandpa!” Charlotte said. She didn’t need to know how Mateo looked, he was imprinted on her brain. And Jane was right, he was sexy as hell.

  Jane grinned, then thought about i
t as she took a few bites of food. And her smile slowly faded. “He’s a little pale, a little tired. Clearly still recovering from his heart attack. His last EKG showed minor damage, but sufficient blood and oxygen supply to the heart.”

  Charlotte’s heart skipped. “Tell me you didn’t break any HIPAA laws, putting your job, not to mention your license, in jeopardy to get that information.”

  “I didn’t break any HIPAA laws to get that information.” Jane paused. “I eavesdropped on his conversation with one of his friends in the parking lot after his lunch.” She looked at Charlotte. “You’re not going to suggest I go talk to him?”

  Hell, no. “I’m still not sure he deserves you.”

  Jane leaned in and gave Charlotte a very rare hug that got her right in the feels. “Better than rent money,” she quipped, making Jane snort.

  Jane gathered the dishes. Charlotte got up to help as well, and Jane shook her head. “You cooked. I clean. That’s the rule.”

  “We don’t have any rules between us.”

  “Yes we do, and you made them.” Jane held up a finger. “Rule number one: I must come to Tahoe for this job every year and I must stay with you.”

  “Well, that one’s just good sense,” Charlotte said.

  “Rule number two: we tell each other when we’re standing on the edge looking down, ready to jump.”

  Charlotte nodded. It’d happened. To both of them.

  “Rule number three,” Jane said. “And this is more of an unspoken rule: you cook because I don’t, and I clean because you don’t. Now go. Go be free.” She made a shooing motion at Charlotte with her hands.

  She laughed and then went outside to finish with the lights. She was back up on the ladder, her headphones on full blast, dancing in place on the rung, singing to herself as she worked.

  When someone unexpectedly put a hand on her foot from below, she nearly jerked right out of her skin. Reacting purely instinctively, she kicked.

  And caught Mateo right on the chin.